He was menace. He was malice. He was violence, frenzy and malevolence. He was revenge, sweet and fulfilling. And he was decadence. I craved him – every inch of the vengeance he offered – I lusted for it with a ferocity I had never experienced. A cry came from my soul that shattered the night surrounding us; it blacked out the moon, the stars and halted the cacophony of midnight celebrations. It plunged us into darkness, before my anguished scream finally descended into silence and the moon returned to us. He stopped then, his beautiful head cocking to one side before he sank to his knees in the blood surrounding me with a grace that was eerily beautiful. I lay on my back, staring up towards him as his face settled above my own. His lips descended, icy cold over my own – teasing, urging – as he kissed me. His hands, pale and strong gripped my face, tangled in my hair as he pulled my head from the ground and continued. I could feel my body rise, guided by unseen hands as I leant towards him, my own bloodstained hands finding his shoulders beneath the darkness of his cloak. This was no woven material, no textile or cloth...it was nothingness; it slithered like that of the black creeping night across the backs of my hands where it rested as I gripped his shoulders in his embrace.
He pulled me astride his lap, his kiss ferocious, and his hands almost painful in my hair, on my skin as he growled against my lips. He tore his mouth away, and I gazed down at the man beneath me. No, he was not a man. To call him that would be a grave injustice to the creature I held in my arms that night. He did not kill without reason; he did not take the souls of the innocent with pain and terror. He took them to peace, and then meted out vengeance against those who deserved it.
What is it you want little one?
His voice had given me the shivers. It had taken me long moments to remember the carnage and death surrounding me. But remember, I did. I had spoken words into the night I had never thought to say, they had simply formed on the tip of my tongue and in an instant they were gone along with my life. I had called him to me, pulled him from his realm and brought him towards the soul I had promised to him alone. He may take souls, ferry them to peace or torture, but he rarely owned one. One worth keeping, he told me.
It was the vengeance in my dying breath, the cry of my mortal soul at the thought of the injustice dealt that night that led him to accept my bargain. One year, I would have amongst the mortal realm from the night that had heralded my death. I would live one more year amongst the scents of summer, the colours of fall, and the chill of winter before I could take my revenge. I would wait, and watch and learn all that I could about my enemy and I would get my chance to end him. He would do the rest.
Our bargain was struck knee deep in blood beneath a bright full moon and sparklers in the sky. I would wait my year, I would let my resentment, my hatred, my vehement lust for retribution grow and consume me. I would not forget those who died, I would not ignore the suffering from the safety of a bubble all the while convincing myself that dead body would never be me.
Well, it was me. It was my sister. It was my mother. And nineteen other mothers, sisters, brothers, friends and children.
Now, these were the last few hours I would spend on this ignorant Earth. And they were the last few hours the Earth would be ignorant. I would get my one shot, at the one who murdered my Momma, and my Millie, the one who raped her before she died. At the one she had called boyfriend, and rode bikes with, the one who had lured my fun loving sister into a world of drugs, sex and crime and then refused to allow her to escape from it when she finally saw sense. I would send Molvern's soul to the very depths of hell, and Death would take the rest...every single last one of them...kicking and screaming into the abyss.
For me.
He sealed our bargain with his kiss, and I sealed it with the purity of my body.
He took me from the blood as half hearted sirens broke the night, the sound of car doors slamming with disgust that they had been called out at midnight for more of 'this shit'. We watched from above, the flashes of cameras – both police and reporters – illuminating the macabre scene below. Pale and dark limbs mixed in a sea of red and upturned trash. Our city's finest police service, labelling the victims as druggies in the wrong place at the wrong time to the anxious microphones of the press – something they knew was bullshit. I was immensely proud of the reporter that did the front page spread of our deaths, it had our final scene, our little photographs, not those hideous ones you wish your friend never took at six am after a night out that actually make you look like a bum, but nice respectable photographs. It did no good though. The police were adamant; they refused to speak to Gallagar and his regulars. So much for the force protecting and serving...I know now of at least seven members of the PD who are on the payroll from Gallagar himself.
He brought me to this place, this small one bed apartment with its brown walls and flickering lights. He sat me down and brought a pen and a rolled scroll of white from the void created by his cloak and he laid it before me. Our bargain. I signed along the blood red line, and he signed along his. So Death did have a name. I mused.
He pressed me back against the soft sheets, silently kissed the tears that escaped me as he removed my tattered dress with exquisite care. Long scraps of once-blue silk fell away, the material parting beneath his touch. I allowed my hands to feather beneath his cloak as he claimed my mouth, the void warming with my touch. I untied the thick cord at his throat and moaned against him as the cloak took flight from his form and melded with the shadows above us. His long dark hair framed us both and he continued to plunder my mouth, his tongue thrust, parried and waged war against my own as he striped me, leaving me bare beneath the sudden heat of his skin. He was no longer cold; his pale skin was flushed beneath my fingertips as I explored him. Everywhere I touched I was met with evidence of his strength; his arms were tense as he held himself on his elbows above me, his chest hard where it was pressed against my own. He could snap me like a twig, and yet even under the onslaught of his feverish touch I felt no pain.
I vaguely felt him shift against me, the hardness of his body resting fully against the softness of my own as he pierced me in one solid thrust. I screamed then. Yielding against him, I welcomed his passion even as he growled low and stilled inside me. My breaths were shallow as he reached between our bodies and toyed with me. I moaned deeply, having never felt anything like it, I was lost beneath him. My body vibrated with pleasure, and as it soared that first time, I felt more alive than I had when I was truly amongst the living. His gentle fingers left me then, smearing my blood on our parchment before licking his fingers clean. Our bargain rolled itself and joined the cloak in the shadows as he secured my wrists above my head and unleashed his body on mine.
My soul sang. It rejoiced in his presence and begged him for more. I worshiped each inch of him that I could as he took me. I explored with my mouth, I followed the wisps of living black flames that shone beneath his skin, I ran my tongue over anything I could reach – kissing him, tasting him – the scent of him changed with our passions, warm and addictive it swallowed me whole and filled my heart. He pulled me astride him; amidst tangled sheets I had never slept in I rocked my body against his, tangled my fingers in his hair and devoured his mouth. His hands guided and soothed the tempest that had become my being, and enraged it all in one go. It was in his arms, as he gave himself to me with a shuddering roar, that I lost myself to him.
